


Hunger

by Slim Shady (NoraPenblood)



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Cannibalism, Consensual Gore, Gore, Gutting, Immortality, M/M, consensual cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:10:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoraPenblood/pseuds/Slim%20Shady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is going off the assumption that post-doomstar (or, potentially, pre-) the band is immortal. </p><p>Nathan's always had a thing for blood, Pickles is up for anything that'll give him a rush. Maybe it was a little too much for a first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> In case for w/e reason you didn't read the tags, this is a gore fic!! Proceed with caution.

Nathan had imagined what Pickles insides must feel like probably a hundred times before. He’d dreamed of digging his hands in, pushing past that soft skin, the layer of fat and muscle and gristle, getting his fingers in where his organs pulsed with life. He’d dreamed of it a hundred times before, but the actual reality of it was so amazing it kind of made his head spin, made his vision blur a little. The smell of blood in the air was thick and metallic enough to set his teeth on edge, make his stomach flip a little. He felt nauseous, the way his head was spinning, the sight of his hand slipped in beneath Pickles’ skin making his eyes feel like crossing. It was amazing, if a little overwhelming. 

Pickles had always obliged him, even before they realized that they were immortal. He’d always know how to play him, to cater to his fantasies. He would grab him by the back of the neck, pull him down close and whisper in his ear, “Don’t you like feeling my insides, Nate’n? Got that big ol’ dick of yours buried in my guts.” And Nathan would be gone, he’d be sinking down into him like Pickles was the ocean and Nathan was a man made of stone.

Now that they were really able to, uh, explore these things, it was pretty jarring. He was even a little nervous, a little hesitant at first. He wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself if he really hurt Pickles. Although there’d been something close to an argument, in the end he’d been easy to convince - especially when Pickles had slid into his lap and murmured against the shell of his ear, “C’mon, Nate’n, don’t you wanna eat me alive or somethin?” 

He did. God, he did. 

It was so pretty, the way his skin separated under the blade, cut like butter. The handle of the knife was cold in his hand, fingers trembling just slightly, his brows knitted together as he pressed it into Pickles’ belly. They’d discussed how to do it – should he do something neat, like a knife, or should he just try to tear into him with his teeth? He was worried about the latter – not sure if it would work well, not sure if Pickles would heal correctly. Besides, he wanted to take it all in and given the way just the thought made his head spin, he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle it. Might be too much too fast. 

Pickles didn’t even squirm as Nathan cut him open, dug the serrated edge of the knife into his skin. It felt weird – the tension against the blade reminded him of hunting trips, of cleaning deer. The smell was similar too, if not different in ways that were hard to place. The man under him was already breathing hard, body perhaps panicking even as Pickles didn’t. He grinned up at him, bottom lip trembling, eyes watery and sort of glassed over already. 

Nathan asked him if he was okay.

There was silence for a moment, punctuated by their breathing, the thrum of Nathan’s pulse in his ears, then Pickles finally opened his mouth. He was kind of drooly, words sliding out of his mouth like he was high. “Yeaaaah, Nate’n. Feels, uh… Feels weird. Good weird.” 

He kept on hesitating, trying to gather his wits once again. The way Pickles blood looked against his skin – staining it, darker at the top and then lighter, redder as it dripped down over his sides, pooled up by his hipbones, filled in all the little dips and curves of him, caught along the nice trail of hair leading down between his legs—

“Uh—Ah- Nate!” 

Pickles voice drug him back up out of the place he’d fallen and he found that he’d plunged the knife in so deep that it had shoved right through into the soft, wet folds of his intestines. Blood had started to flow more fully, the laceration stretched as it met with the hilt of the hunting knife. No turning back now, and after all, it was intoxicatingly pretty. 

“…Sorry.”

He pulled back, the knife making a wet sort of “schluck” as he tugged it out of Pickles’ body. The hole wanted to close up as soon as the intrusion was gone but Nathan didn’t want that. Didn’t want Pickles to start healing up before he’d even had any fun. He looked up at him again, was met with a drooly grin and a thumbs up, and – without second thought – plunged his hand inside the wound. 

Pickles’ insides felt better than he ever could have imagined – warm and wet, every part of him pulsing with life. Something about the experience was just a little more jarring than he ever would’ve imagined – uncanny and alien, made the whole world drift out of focus. It was like the only thing in the world was him and the meat between his fingers, the soft, delicate things twitching beneath him. He wanted to break Pickles open, to crack apart his ribcage, to stuff all the parts of him that kept him alive into his mouth. He wanted to eat him alive, listen to his heartbeat fade out as he held his teeth in a death-grip around his throat. 

He could see where his hands were, see the little bumps and curves they left under his bandmate’s flesh. He was sort of wearing Pickles like a glove, right? Sick. He needed to get ahold of himself a little before he just dove right in and destroyed the poor guy. 

Pickles seemed to be enjoying it, for whatever it was worth. He was letting out dizzy little giggles, clutching against the stained sheets below him, encouraging Nathan to press further. “S’it everything you dreamed of, dude?” 

Nathan couldn’t find his voice, just nodded softly. His eyes looked weird in the light – black and empty, like a shark, like an animal. The sound of waves crashing was suddenly in the back of his head, the low, desperate screams of the whales. Something about this was just so incredibly right. 

The room was filled with the sound of the two of them breathing – Nathan in slow, steady heaves, and Pickles in quick little pants, like a dying bird – and the softer sound of Pickles’ organs squishing around Nathan’s fingers. He should say something, ask if Pickles felt good, but it was hard. Hard to think of words when he was feeling so weird, so perfect. 

When he glanced up at him, Pickles was wide-eyed, a stupid, drooly grin on his face. Alright. That was a good sign. He looked like he did when he’d get a real good high going, blissed out of his fucking mind. He’d noticed Nathan looking at him and let out a breathless little laugh, reaching out with one shaky hand and running his fingers along the side of the wound. “Ain’t it pretty, Nate’n?” His voice was thicker than normal, and he swallowed after he spoke, made Nathan’s eyes drift down over his throat. 

“Uh. Mhm…” He replied after a few moments, curling his fingertips and pushing down against the membranous tissue below him, pressing curiously into the mess of intestines nestled there. Squishy. Hot. Hotter than he’d imagined, like Pickles had a furnace inside of him. Did everyone feel like that on the inside? 

Pickles was staring at him and every time he shifted his position a little Nathan could feel it inside his skin -- it was very suddenly a lot to deal with and the smell was making him dizzy and he shuffled in place, a little growl escaping his throat. He wanted more, he wanted the cut to be bigger, he wanted to really see inside him. Make a mess. Do what he was made to do. 

He moved his hands back, watched the light glitter against the dark, dark blood staining his own skin, curled his fingers against the edges of the wound and pulled. The sound was slow and wet and punctuated by Pickles letting out a sudden, breathless little shout, his skin tearing along the seam that Nathan had already created, organs spilling out like they’d been eager to escape all along.

His own pulse was pounding in his ears, eyes wide and focused fully on that pile of intestines, on the blood dripping in earnest down Pickles’ sides. It was like something had snapped in him, made him hungry, made him just a little less human. He wanted to eat, to stuff those guts in his mouth until Pickles was breathless and begging, until his own belly was full. He wanted things that he couldn’t quite put words to – filled with possessiveness and hunger and a desire to really, fully own him, to desecrate the handsome gift he’d been given. 

Pickles was panting heavily, eyes as wide as saucers as he watched Nathan move, the newly torn wound aching all the way into his bones, his head spinning. He’d never seen… so much of the inside of himself. It was more than a little jarring, but the look on Nathan’s face was enough to keep him from panicking or anything. Besides, the headrush this was giving him was amazing. 

The blood on Nathan’s skin was sort of cathartic, made him feel like this was just so achingly right. Like this was part of something he’d always been missing, some needling little hole inside him that he was finally filling up. He was hungry. Hungry. 

He leaned in, hair falling in his face, like a curtain to hide what he was doing. Pickles felt his breathing stutter in his chest as Nathan’s hot breath glanced against his insides, teeth digging into him. Nathan couldn’t focus on anything but the smell, the taste of metal in his mouth, the feeling of something so warm and soft and alive under his lips. He sucked on it for a moment, tasted the flesh under his tongue, sort of cherishing it. Memorizing the tactility. 

It couldn’t last, though, not with the hunger in his belly, not with the aching need to ruin stirring at the back of his skull. He shoved both hands in, grabbed a fistful of meat and sinew and organ and shoved it into his waiting mouth. The gore bubbled up under the pressure of his teeth, burst and tore like he was eating one of the nicest, fattest steaks he could ever get his hands on. The feeling of organs popping in his mouth reminded him of eating sausage, the skin pulled taut to bursting between his teeth.  
Pickles had a hand in his hair, frantic, trying to brush it back so he could see Nathan’s face. He was sweaty and shivering, eyes huge and green and desperate. He felt like a rabbit, heart pulsing, head aching, his instincts crying for him to run, but wanting to stay so badly. He’d never realized how eager he was to be eaten. “Fuuuck, fuck yeah, y- heh- yeah dude, shit.” 

Then Nathan was digging in harder, twisting his head violently to the side as he pulled back. His chest was heaving and he looked like something out of a nightmare, eyes so dark they might’ve been holes, blood dripping down his face, a chunk of Pickles insides clutched between his teeth. He growled a little, made a gluttonous little grunt, slurping around the meat as he chewed it, both broad hands pressing down on Pickles’ hips. Keeping him in place. It tasted better than anything else he’d ever eaten, his heart hammering in his chest. He’d never felt stronger, never felt more right. 

For a minute, Pickles forgot who he was. For a minute, he was so scared he thought he might piss himself. It was hard to do anything but lay there and writhe, his bony hands helplessly clutching the leaking, aching wound in his belly. He wasn’t upset, he was having the time of his life, but there was still that fear inside him, that deep-down animal part of his brain that was pleading with the stupid bastard to run. Something in his head told him he was gazing up at a god, a beast older than time that was eager to consume every last bit of him and that he should cower. He should beg. 

Nathan spat out a fragment of a sentence, something that wasn’t English, that was older than the Earth itself. His words dripped from his mouth like primordial sludge, like the blood drool running down his chin. Pickles heard him swallow before he climbed on top of him, settled his weight over the drummer’s thighs and leaned down again, pressed his mouth to the side of his neck. Was he going to bite his head off? Was he planning on fucking him? This had all spiraled out of control so quickly, everything was weird, like the veil between reality and whatever else there was had started to split down the middle. 

Pickles wrapped his shaky arms around his shoulders, dug his fingers into his skin, and exhaled heavily. “Nate’n—Is- s’that still you in there?” His voice was watery, betrayed his fear, came out sounding almost reverent. He felt like he was being crushed by a god. 

Nathan did not answer for a long, long time, just lying on top of him and breathing hard, mouthing wetly against his throat. It was like he was considering eating him, like every time he ran his tongue over his skin he was about to take a bite but kept considering otherwise. He was still for so long that Pickles could feel himself starting to heal back up – it was tingly and bizarre, like when a sleeping limb wakes back up. He was curious about it, what it must look like, but there was no strength left in his shoulders, no desire to do anything but lie underneath Nathan and let him do as he pleased. 

“Mh. Uh. Uhhh… Pickles?” His voice was concerned, quiet, like he thought he might’ve fucked up. “Did I, uh. Did I kill you? Are you alive?” He sat back slowly, the dry blood on his face making him itchy. Pickles looked pale, his skin gone cold. Maybe a side-effect of the healing process or something. He was still breathing, chest rising and falling slowly.

“No, man. M’still kicking.” He grinned up him, head tilted slightly to the side, his dreads in a bird’s-nest on top of his head. “Are you, uh. Are you done?” He wasn’t disappointed, he’d had a hell of a time, but now that it was over it didn’t feel like they’d spent a lot of time there.

Nathan swallowed, ran a hand over the taut, shiny places where Pickles’ organs were knitting themselves back together. It was entrancing. “Uh. Yeah. I think I’m done.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you liked this, my blog is striderfvcker.tumblr.com
> 
> My SFW ao3 account is http://archiveofourown.org/users/striderfvcker/pseuds/striderfvcker


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